


Patched Up

by poetroe



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Dog Cops, F/F, F/M, Hospitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetroe/pseuds/poetroe
Summary: Clint & Kate AU origin story where they 'meet' in the hospital.“By the way, if what the magazines say is true and people in comas actually can hear what’s happening around them, please ignore all the things I just said,” Clint told the girl. “And all the things I’m going to say. It might get weird, seeing as how I’m going to die of boredom. What are you called anyway?”





	Patched Up

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote the first like 6500 words of this fic way back in 2014/2015 but I never actually finished it. Then I came across it again and here we are, hope y’all like it!!

The light was the first thing he noticed. The awful, annoyingly blinding light that seemed to burst right through his eyelids. Clint groaned and went to sit up, but stopped when he noticed he couldn’t hear said groan. He also stopped because his entire body hurt and Clint was pretty sure he wasn’t even capable of sitting right now. After an inner conflict that lasted about two minutes, Clint decided that, to get someone to shut the damn blinds, he had to choose between seeing or hearing and well, since hearing was kinda out of the question... The light was even more agonizing with his eyes open. Fuck.

Seeing Nat sitting at his side, looking annoyed and glaring at something on her phone, was a sight for sore eyes, though. Literally, in his case.

“About time you woke up,” Nat said, and Clint was convinced that if looks could kill, that phone would be a chunk of melted metal right now. She was looking down, and Clint was still pretty blinded, so he only caught about half of it (lipreading had never really been one of his strong points). “I brought you chocolates.”

“Nat,” Clint said, “not that I don’t appreciate you visiting, but please, _for the love of god,_ close the fucking blinds. I feel like I’m deafblind instead of just deaf.” Nat chuckled and signed “H-A-H-A-H-A,” mostly to emphasize the fact that she was laughing at his sorry ass, but also because Nat’s a great friend and even though Clint knows languages are a piece of cake for her, he’s still glad she went through the trouble to learn ASL. “Thanks,” Clint muttered as Nat closed the blinds.

“So,” Nat said/signed when she sat down. “What happened this time?” Clint grimaced and pressed his head back into the pillow, immediately regretting that decision, because every muscle in his body was sore as hell.

“Oh, you know. I got into an argument with the mob. Cuban it was, I think. The usual.” Clint made a mental note about not pissing them off again, anytime soon. “Doc says my radius bone is broken, or something. That’s my arm, in case you didn’t know,” Clint lifted his right arm about one inch in a pathetic attempt to show off his cask. “I’ve also got a few bruised ribs and I’m pretty sure I pulled some muscles, somewhere... Anywhere. Oh, and head trauma. I don’t even know anymore.”

“You should know that I’ve tortured enough people in my time to know what the bones in your arm are called.” To anyone watching this conversation, Nat’s face wouldn’t have betrayed any aspect of how serious the content of that sentence actually was, like, they could’ve been talking about the weather or something. Clint loves sign language.

“Doc also says I’ll have to be staying at least six weeks, longer if I manage to somehow make this thing with my arm worse. Hill’s orders, apparently. Not like I think I can move any time before then, anyway. I’d appreciate it if you could get someone to feed Lucky for me, though. He doesn’t need much, just leave out some water and a meat pizza, he’ll be fine.” Nat’s phone buzzed and her face grew a bit harder when she read the message on the screen.

“Sure thing Barton. Hang in there okay? Hill’s got me going on a mission to...” She looked down at her phone again. “Italy, apparently. I’m not sure I’ll be able to check in again soon.” Clint might’ve waved it away with a physical gesture if his arm didn’t hurt so much.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine. And you know me, hanging around without pants on is basically my second job,” he said with a small grin. “Besides, how boring can a hospital be?”

***

Turns out hospitals can be boring as fuck. Clint, considering how many times he’s already been hospitalized, should’ve known better. The tv in his room only had a news channel, a childish cartoon channel and a sports channel where they showed archers that Clint knew he could beat with both hands tied behind his back. Well, maybe not both. Maybe one. Clint missed the countless episode of Dog Cops he has on his VCR at home.

Two days, that had felt like an eternity, had passed when they brought her in. A girl that couldn’t be older than 18 with hair as black as Clint’s coffee. A traffic accident, apparently. Almost directly after she was brought in, people who Clint figured were friends or family came in too, disturbing the silence he had grown used too in those two days. So, Clint took out his hearing aids and spent the next few hours thinking about how unfair it is that not everyone can always be saved and how much life actually sucks.

***

On day five the doctor told Clint that, because of his head trauma and his ribs, it’d be better to stay in the hospital. Not that Clint had a lot to say in the matter. That was also the day that Tony and Cap visited. 

Steve was, as anticipated, his optimistic, annoyingly patriotic self. Bringing a gargantuan arrangement of flowers, he talked Clint’s ears off about the team, his latest mission and how proud he was of Clint for standing up for the less fortunate. Well god fucking bless America and thanks for that healthcare system, Cap. That’s what Clint would’ve said if he wished to be murdered in his sleep by a metal arm. Instead, he had expressed his gratitude for their visit and also apologized for not being able to go on any mission with the Avengers anytime soon. Of course, Tony, being even more annoying than Steve, had something to say about that.

“Don’t worry about it Barton,” he said, “we’ll manage.”

“Shut up.”

***

Clint had been in the hospital a week. The girl with the black hair was still in a coma, and every afternoon, a group of four boys and two girls came to visit. Clint had made it a sport to guess their stories.

The white haired kid was obviously the black haired kid’s twin, but his hair was white. Dyed, Clint guessed. Clearly he wanted to stand out, maybe because he had lived in his brother’s shadow for so long. But he talked a lot (almost enough to make Clint take out his hearing aids, if he wasn’t so interested in hearing their conversations. The number of immoral things Clint would do to prevent being bored is not to be underestimated), meaning he was pretty sure of himself, so that couldn’t be it.

His best friend, the serious looking guy with the glasses, was silent and looked like he’d rather take Draco Malfoy there for a coffee instead of being here. Maybe he could bring Clint one while he’s at it. Hospital coffee sucks.

Then there was the other twin and his big, dangerously looking boyfriend. They seemed like a good match, Clint guessed they must’ve won prom king & king at least once. The amount of stories Clint could make up in his head about how they met were almost endless. For example: Blondie was a barista, Other Twin came in every Saturday morning after running his usual laps at the ridiculous time of 6:30am, making them the only two people in the shop, thus igniting conversation and bam! relationship. If only real life was that weird and perfect.

The first three afternoons they visited, the blonde girl cried, ultimately learning to compose herself by the fourth visit. Clint guessed she and Comatose went way back. Maybe it was like one of those ‘we’ve been friends since kindergarten!!’ friendships. Or maybe she had said something hurtful she hadn’t yet apologized for, and now might lose the chance to do just that, in which case her tears were much more painful. Somewhere in the back of his head, Clint wondered if it was too rude to just ask.

The Latina was her complete opposite. To the unobservant eye, she might have looked like a statue, emotions seemingly nonexistent; but Clint was a trained spy and noticed the twitches in her hand (like she was resisting to reach for the girl in the bed) and the hardness in her eyes, which went way beyond just your average ‘fuck off’ face. Every afternoon, she came in behind everybody else and lingered by the door, like she wanted to be anywhere but here, but in a way that was somehow more desperate than the indifferent way of the guy with the glasses. Clint wondered if this whole act was just about unrequited feelings or that maybe this girl was the one with the unanswered apology. 

In conclusion, instead of entertaining Clint, the whole thing just made him sad and a bit angry. 

***

The reason the kids only visited in the afternoon was, Clint figured out after a week, was because they had to go to school (if he wasn’t a high school dropout, he might have felt sorry for them). That meant that in the mornings, the only interesting things that happened were breakfast (coffee!!!) and lunch (food!!!). Also, as mentioned before, the entertainment the tv provided was just crap. And with only six feet and a curtain between them, Clint only needed seven days to finally cross a line and pull the curtain back.

The girl looked the same as how she looked seven days prior, the only differences being that the cuts on her face were healing and that her face looked a bit thinner and paler from the lack of solid foods and simply the fact she was in a coma. Okay, so technically she didn’t look the same, not really, but her hair was still shiny and her hands were still slender and strong looking and Clint had no doubt that her eyes would still shine as well, if she wasn’t laying with her eyes closed and Clint was beating himself up about the fact that he was looking at her like that because _for Gods fucking sake, she couldn’t be over twenty, she a fucking teenager Clint,_ but he was able to forgive himself for all that, arguing that the lack of nurse eye candy must’ve made him like, I don’t know, desperate? And the fact that the amount of coffee they gave him was less than a quarter of what he normally consumed. Maybe this boredom was finally going to his head.

He punched himself on the forehead, as he imagined Nat would’ve done, and then let out a string of curse words cause his head still hurt like the inner circle of hell from falling out of that building. Nice one, Barton.

“By the way, if what the magazines say is true and people in comas actually can hear what’s happening around them, please ignore all the things I just said,” Clint told the girl. “And all the things I’m going to say. It might get weird, seeing as how I’m going to die of boredom. What are you called anyway?” It took all he had to get to his feet and not fall over or puke or scream because his head was still exploding and his arm was hurting again from moving, but somehow he managed. He tentatively took a few paces to the foot end of the girl’s bed and reached for her file.

Katherine Elizabeth Bishop.

Clint looked at the girl and matched the name with the person, and if he was completely honest, this girl looked like a Katherine about as much as pizza looked like a vegetable. No, she was more of a Kate. Which was probably also what her friends called her. Nobody wants to be called Katherine voluntarily.

“So, _Kate,_ ” Clint said as he put the file back and sat down on his bed, meanwhile testing how the name felt in his mouth. “Looks like you fucked up majorly. Uh, screwed up, I mean. This not cursing thing is gonna be the death of me,” he mumbled. “But hey, at least your friends look nice. Also, take a tip from a guy who has screwed up one too many times in life, you should forgive your friends. I mean, if there’s anything to forgive. Also you should wake up soon. Like my brother used to say, ‘you aren’t gonna get much done if you lay in bed all day’. Even though that might be a bit beside the point right now. But really, you should wake up soon.”

It’s unbelievable how awkward a conversation with someone who’s unconscious can be.

***

It was Monday morning when the door of their room opened and the Latina entered. Clint was sipping his coffee and watching the news, but he quickly swallowed his comments about how this was like the trillionth time Cap and Tony had saved the city. Who was he to talk to Kate anyway? The girl paused for a second once she was in the room, eying Clint suspiciously as he focused his gaze on the tv. Then she slammed the door shut as soft as you can slam a door shut, and angrily shut the curtain. It was like anything she did was done angrily.

“Skipping school, huh? Smart. That’s what I used to do too, you know, and you can see how awesomely I ended up,” Clint said sarcastically.

The curtain opened again and Clint worried about any tears and rips that might appear in the painfully mint green fabric sometime in the future. The girl just glared at him.

“Shut up.”

“What? It’s not like it’s a bad thing to be hospitalized. You get free food and everything.” Clint thanked every culture’s god that looks couldn’t kill once again, because the way the girl was glaring at him made it very clear that she wasn’t against prolonging his time in the hospital.

“Can we have some privacy, please.” She said it more like an order than an actual question and made a move to close the curtain again.

“Wait-” Clint hated how desperate he sounded, he was a superhero for crying out loud. “Can you just tell me what happened to her?”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because apart from you guys visiting every afternoon, Kate here is my only company.” The girl didn’t attempt to correct him with the name, so that was a good thing. She sized him up, probably considering if he was worth knowing this information. Clint patiently sipped his coffee.

“Okay then.” She took a moment to compose herself. “She was in a car crash. Some blind ass _gilipollas_ thought it was a good idea to race through Brooklyn at fucking rush hour. I guess he was bound to crash into someone eventually. It’s just fucked up that it had to be her.” An angry tear rolled down the girl’s cheek as she pulled the curtain closed again with almost enough force to rip it off the rails. The quiet sobs that followed made Clint’s heart feel so heavy, he wasn’t sure he could ever lift himself up from this bed again.

***

After half an hour, the sobs had quieted down to a sniffle every now and then. After an hour, soft whispers of a one sided conversation could be heard from the other side of the curtain, and Clint took out his hearing aids. After two hours, the curtain opened again. Clint was intently watching a biathlon competition somewhere in Poland, all the while wondering whether or not he would have the stamina to win one of those things. He didn’t notice that the girl had said something until she angrily kicked his bed. He jumped and scrambled to put in his hearing aids.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked you how long they’re keeping you here.”

“Oh, I don’t know. A week, maybe two. Maybe even a bit longer if my boss doesn’t trust me with healing my arm at home.” The girl rose an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“What’s your name?”

“Clint Barton. Why’d you ask?” Her eyes left him and wandered back to Kate.

“Well, I don’t want anything happening to her,” she motioned to Kate with nod, “and you’re gonna be stuck here for a while, so I’m gonna trust you to take care of her whenever I’m not here, _entiendes?_ ” Clint wondered why exactly she was asking _him_ this, but at the same time, he understood. If someone he cared about was hurt, he would want to be there, preferably the whole time, if only to just keep an eye out. And if he couldn’t be, there would better be someone there in his place. He was sure hospitals were pretty high on the list of safest places to be, but he could see where this girl was coming from.

“Okay, but on one condition.” She glared daggers at him and he could’ve sworn he heard her grind her teeth.

“What?”

“What’s _your_ name?” The girl rolled her eyes so hard Clint almost wanted to ask if she saw her brain.

“My name’s America,” she said, so soft he almost missed it, and Clint smiled.

“That must be a confusing name.” America shrugged.

“I’m used to it.” And on that note, America stalked out the room and slammed the door behind her, just as hard, but a bit less angry than when she did when she came in.

“She’s a real hothead, isn’t she,” he murmured to the girl on the bed next to him. 

***

Two days after America’s morning visit, Clint realized he had never formally introduced himself to his neighbor.

“So, Kate.” He paused. Yeah, this one probably made it in his top ten most awkward conversation starters. Whatever. “I bet you don’t _personally_ know a lot of superheroes, huh? Well, I guess today is your lucky day. You see, I’m not just the weird guy laying in the bed next to you in the hospital. I’m fricking _Hawkeye,_ man.” He smiled broadly, imagining the impression on the girl’s face if she hadn’t been comatose. “You can just call me Clint, though. It’s really not that big of a deal, I mean yeah, I might be the only guy in the Avengers who _doesn’t have a superpower or is biologically or technically enhanced,_ but you know. I try. I could even teach you some archery if you want.” He turned the tv on. “Yeah, you just sleep on it. Just know that I am the _absolute very best_ marksman out there. Oh sweet, Dog Cops.”

***

Clint was in the middle of explaining the strained relationship between Mr. Whiskers and his former sidekick to Kate when the door opened.

“Do you even tell unconscious people about that horrible show now? Poor girl.”

“Hey! Dog Cops is great, okay? It saved my life!” Clint protested. “Anyway, how was Italy?” Nat shrugged.

“Warm. Complicated. And the mafia was a pain.” She smirked. “But at least there was enough eye candy to go around. How have you been doing here? Bored a lot of unconscious people to death yet?” Clint huffed.

“None, thank you very much. I mean it’s not like I see a lot of people in my current state. At least my head feels better now.” Natasha picked up Clint’s patient file.

“So why didn’t Hill let you go home yet?” Clint sighed exasperatedly.

“Oh, I don’t know. I think she doesn’t trust my ability to go around with only one functional arm.”

“I can see her point.”

“Hey!” Nat smiled at him, and then looked at the bed next to him.

“So, what happened to her?” she asked, not missing the way his eyes grew a bit darker.

“Some asshole caused a car crash. She was unfortunate enough to be in the middle of it. Her friends have been coming over every afternoon since, they’re real sweethearts.” Clint thought about America, and how he hadn’t seen her since they had their talk. He wondered when she’d come back to check if he hadn’t screwed up his task as Kate’s guardian yet.

“And you’ve been annoying her in between those visits? I must admit, that sounds like a very persistent way to try and wake her up,” Nat commented.

“Thanks Nat,” Clint deadpanned. “But you know, they do say that comatose people can still hear what’s going on around them, so I figured keeping her some company wouldn’t hurt.”

The smile Natasha gave him then was a rare one, full of compassion and devoid of the sarcasm that was usually directed at Clint. He smiled back wearily.

***

It had been two weeks since he was hospitalized, twelve days since Kate was brought in and four days after he had last seen America. She entered the room in her usual fashion, with a lot of anger and just a dash of desperation. She seemed to calm down instantly upon seeing Kate in her unchanged state, and gave Clint a curt nod. 

“Hey,” Clint greeted back. “So, where have you been?” America gave him a deadly ‘that’s none of your damn business’ glare, but still answered him. Now that’s called progress, Clint thought to himself.

“Around. There were some things that needed taking care of,” she said in a cold voice. Clint wondered if she murdered someone and that, if so, it was one of his superhero duties to ask her, because he would really rather not. Oh well.

“She asked for you,” Clint said. “Or well, not really. I’m a little bit psychic, let’s just keep it at that.”

“No you’re not. You’re Clint Barton, more commonly known as Hawkeye, archer, marksman and member of the Avengers.” Clint’s eyes widened. 

“No way. Are you a fan?” America rolled her eyes and Clint wondered how much it would take for her to throw him out of the window. At least he’d land close to the ER.

“No, you _tonto._ Did you really think I wouldn’t do a background check on the guy I trust to take care of my friend?” She looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on the planet. “Anyway, I take it there haven’t been any improvements in her… condition?” 

“Yeah. But on the bright side, there haven’t been any setbacks either,” Clint commented. America gave him her trademark eye roll, but then her features softened a bit.

“And... you’ve been talking to her? I read about that thing where people in comas can still hear you.” Clint smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh yeah. I’ve been telling her all about Dog Cops.”

“Well, since you’re into archery, I was thinking you could, maybe...” America hesitated for a bit. “I don’t know... tell her about that? Before... before all this, she was considering a new hobby. And I know Kate. She would love it.” There was something about the way America looked at Clint when she said that. Her eyes were loaded with a mixture of concern for her friend, desperation for her well-being, softness at the memory of Kate busy living her life, but what it made so heavy was the amount of trust with which America looked at Clint. In that moment, he could feel something shift in their dynamic; he had America’s trust now. “I mean, you’re an Avenger. If she’s gonna learn archery, she better learn it from the very best, right?” America grinned, and suddenly the look was gone. “She deserves that, at least.”

“Damn straight,” Clint agreed.

***

“Archery is the best there is, man. And don’t you ever listen to people like Bullseye with his dumb knives or whatever he throws at people, claiming to be ‘world’s best marksman’, _I mean what a joke,_ and don’t listen to Natasha either with her guns, because archery just tops everything.” Clint smiled at the bed next to him. “It’s like, you’re using every muscle in your body. It’s not just moving one arm to throw a knife or shoot a gun, there’s a lot more involved. Your arms get tense under the pressure, your back needs to be straight, but not too straight, and your knees need to be bent just a bit. And for a split second, the bow and the arrow are a part of it. It’s like throwing a twig with your extra arm. Wait, no, that’s really not a good analogy... Never mind. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you try it. It’s just so amazing. The strength, surging and pulsing through your veins, like one of those Kaiju from Pacific Rim, destroying everything in its path. Only now, you control the beast. You control it and you lead it to the bow and to the string, and through those into the arrow, and then you let it go. And man, when you hit the target, it’s one of the most satisfying feelings ever. You might think shooting arrows is a bit too old fashioned, a bit too ‘Robin Hood’ for you, but you just wait till you feel it. Shooting arrows is like creating a whole new species, like you are God creating the human race. If that’s your thing, that is. You just give that arrow a purpose, you shape its curve and where you want it to end, you give it the strength to get there and then some, you stuff that monster in there and tell it to go into the world and wreak some damn havoc. And you know, setting it free feels so damn rewarding.” Clint snickered to himself. “I guess you could say I see arrows as my children. I raise ‘em strong and then let them go.”

A pause.

“…That probably made no sense at all, did it?”

***

On the first day of the third week Clint was in the hospital, another Avenger visited.

First Clint was watching the news, the next second he was looking into a pair of blue eyes, way closer than he was comfortable with. 

“Hey! What the hell man, don’t startle me like that!” Clint said, violently resisting the urge to jump out of bed and kick Quicksilver’s butt. Arrogant as ever, Pietro just chuckled and sat down in the visitor’s chair.

“How you doing, Barton?” Clint shrugged.

“Um, healing, I guess. It’s going pretty slow though.” Pietro laughed out loud at that. 

“Yeah, going slow, that must suck.”

“Very funny. I’d like to see how _you_ would handle life without superpowers. Anyway, why are you here?” Clint asked. “Come to see how I’m doing out of the kindness in your heart?” Pietro shrugged.

“I’m here on behalf of the team,” he said, and for a second Clint thought that maybe they were all genuinely worried about how he was getting on, and wondering if he was gracing them with his irreplaceable marksmanship and delightful personality anytime soon. But just for a second, because Pietro was already continuing. “A threat has popped up, up north and we were wondering if we could stay at your farm while we take care of it.” Clint’s right hand was already going up for a face palm before he remembered the cast. 

“Uh yeah, sure. Say hi to Wanda and the team for me,” Clint said to the empty visitor’s chair, because Quicksilver had already sped away mid-sentence. Thinking about how much he wanted to slap the guy, Clint pulled the curtain separating him and Kate open.

“That guy is like, the biggest douchebag in the Avengers. And trust me, considering Tony Stark, that’s saying something.” 

***

It had been six weeks. Six fucking weeks of spending his days on this godforsaken bed, in this godforsaken room, with that godforsaken tv that only had 3 channels. But all that had come to an end now. The doctor who came to bring him the good news looked like she was on the verge of calling security when Clint jumped up and screamed “YES!! FINALLY!” He didn’t see what the big deal about that was though, seeing as the only other person in the room was comatose. If he’d managed to wake her up, it wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing, right?

“Agent Barton. Positively set as usual, I see.” A familiar face (and suit) entered Clint’s hospital room.

“Nice to see you too, Coulson,” Clint said with a small grin, which quickly broadened when he noticed the redhead standing in the doorway. “Hey Nat. Come to see which kinds of sentient life forms have developed beneath this beauty?” He tapped his cast dramatically and Natasha rolled her eyes.

Turns out that six weeks, even in the most sterilized environment, isn’t nearly enough to create life. Even though he would never admit it, Clint might have been a little disappointed. When he rushed back to the room to get his things (Coulson had a mission for him and Natasha, even though the doctor said not to pressure his arm- who cares, about that, right? SHIELD doesn’t, and neither does Clint), America was sitting on his bed.

“Discharged?” she asked.

“Yep. Hawkeye is BACK,” Clint said enthusiastically, flexing his cast-free arm for the show. America rolled her eyes and stood up to face him, eyes hard, slightly intimidating him even though she only came as high as Clint’s chin, and then firmly planted her index finger on his chest.

“You better visit her, _bobo,_ or I’ll find you and drag you here myself. Is that clear?” Clint smiled, nodded dutifully and pulled her into a hug.

“Crystal clear.” When he let go, America was smiling too, a sight so unusual Clint almost asked her if she was okay. “I uh, I won’t be visiting for like, two weeks though. You know what I do for a living.”

“You gotta punch some druglord in the dick somewhere. Got it.” America’s face turned serious again. “But don’t you forget about her, okay?” Clint smiled reassuringly at her as he messily put his clothes in the bag Coulson gave him.

“How could I?”

***

The sun was beating down, warming the earth with her bright beams, no doubt providing happiness for all the people who chose today to go to the beach and for a lot of others, too. A lot of people, but not Kate. No, instead of spending today with her friends, she was stuck in the ever present New York City traffic. Great. It was growing warmer and warmer in her purple bug, and she huffed. Trust her dad to choose today as the perfect day to introduce her to a new business partner, or whatever it said in the email. The ice cream she had picked up earlier was melting, dripping over her hand and making a mess of her faux leather seats.

“Fuck,” she muttered, grabbing around in the glove box for paper towels. Great, now her hands were gonna be sticky all day. She tried to eat the ice as fast as she could to prevent a bigger sticky catastrophe. “I’m so never eating ice cream again.” Kate stopped with her task of licking the melted ice cream off her hands when people started yelling on the sidewalk. “What the-” A car was speeding to where she was waiting in the traffic jam. And it didn’t look like it was slowing down. Forgetting about the ice cream, Kate moved to move her car forward, backward, _anywhere,_ but she was stuck. With wide eyes, she looked at the maniac that was coming closer by the second, and crawled to the passenger seat, heart beating at what felt like a million per minute. She could make it. There was enough space between her and the Toyota that was standing next to her to open the door, she could make it. _She could make it._

With a terrifying screeching sound and a huge bang, the car made impact and Kate was thrown headfirst through the side window. Too terrified to feel any pain, Kate blacked out.

***

The light was the first thing she noticed. The awful, annoyingly blinding light that seemed to burst right through her eyelids. Kate tried to open her eyes, which made the blinding thing worse, and groaned. Immediately a warm hand covered her hand and a second one was touching her cheek. 

“Kate?” an urgent voice said. A voice she distinctively remembered. “Kate?” it said again, “Are you okay? Can you hear me?” Deciding to just _fuck it,_ she opened her eyes.

“America?” Her voice sounded strangely hoarse and a headache she hadn’t noticed before now was starting to get worse. 

“I’m here. Steady there, princess.” America helped her sit up and shut the blinds, immediately returning to sit on the bed with Kate. She seemed a bit hesitant, and Kate grabbed her hand.

“Was I in an accident?” America’s eyes grew serious.

“Uh, yeah. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Well, I was on my way to my dad’s, then out of nowhere this jackass comes racing towards me. I thought that maybe he’d slow down or something, but he didn’t. He crashed into my car, next thing I know I wake up here.” Kate looked at her friend, who looked pale. America never looked pale. “Why? What’s wrong? _America,_ ” America laid her head in her hands for a moment, then looked at Kate again.

“How long do you think you were out?” she asked, and Kate shrugged.

“I don’t know... a day? Maybe two?” America sighed and smiled wryly at her. 

“Two and a half months. You were... unconscious, for two and a half months.” Kate opened her mouth to say something, maybe that it just _wasn’t possible,_ but the words got stuck in her throat. Then America was there, hugging her close and she breathed in the familiarity of America’s sent, and how strong and warm her arms felt around Kate. “We were so worried about you. Cassie and me and the boys, and even that _idiota_ who occupied the other bed for the first six weeks. We didn’t know if you were ever going to wake up.” America pulled back and smiled at Kate. Kate saw pure relief in her eyes and it kind of terrified her. The thought of never seeing her friends again, never seeing _America_ again was… It was something she’d rather forget as quickly as possible, and never think about again.

“Were you... here? The whole time?” she asked. America nodded. “But what about school? Your job?” Kate continued. 

“Not nearly as important. I know the rest of the gang like to worry about stuff like that, but I...” America clenched her fists. “I just couldn’t stand the thought of not being here when... if you woke up.” Kate grabbed America’s hand, opened her fist and slowly intertwined their fingers.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Kate said. America smiled again, and they sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Kate thought about what America said, and tried to wrap her head around the fact that two and a half months of her life were just... gone. Something else was bugging her, too. “Hey, America?”

“Hmm?”

“What was that you said about ‘that _idiota_ who occupied the other bed’?”

“Oh, yeah. His name is Clint. He’s out of here now, but he used to talk to you a lot, about-” 

“About Dog Cops?,” Kate suddenly said. America looked at her, surprised. “I don’t know how I know that, but I vaguely remember hearing something about Dog Cops. And arrows, too.”

There was a heartbeat of silence, and then America started laughing like she just heard the best joke of her life. Kate, unsure of what was the joke here, silently laughed along, because America didn’t laugh this wildly very often and the sound in itself worked contagiously. A few stray tears rolled down America’s cheeks, and she was laughing so hard that she didn’t even bother wiping them away. Kate was shocked.

“Woah are you okay? Do I need to call a doctor? Thank god we’re in a hospital.”

“Hahaha, I’m just- don’t worry, Kate,” America managed to choke out, “I’m just so- hahahaha, that bastard was actually _right!_ ”

“What are you talking about? Right about what?” America took a few deep breaths and managed to calm herself down enough to answer Kate in uninterrupted sentences. 

“Okay so, Clint, the guy who was in that other bed, said he read somewhere that people who are... comatose-” America said, saying the last word much softer than the rest, “can still hear what is going on around them. I guess he was right.” She just smiled at Kate, and after a minute, said, “I’m sorry you had to go through that, though. I mean I’ve heard the guy go on about that stupid Dog Cops show, and honestly, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.”

“It’s fine,” Kate said, laughing about the ridiculousness of it all. “I’m just curious about that archery thing. I mean, what’s up with that? Is he an athlete?”

“…Sort of,” America said with a grin. “I guess, if you count fighting crime in purple spandex as a sport.” Kate’s eyes widened. “Yeah, yeah. He’s a ‘superhero’. I think you’ve heard of him.”

“Hawkeye, right?” America nodded. “Isn’t that the guy who accidentally blew up a Starbucks in the middle of the night and when he was found out, proceeded to argue that he was doing humanity a favor?” Kate said, and America snickered.

“That would be him. I don’t know if you remember, but he promised you archery lessons.” 

“Hmm. Regardless of how dorky he sounds, I might just take him up on that offer,” she said. America smiled, moving her hand to rub Kate’s forearm.

“I think you should, princess. A few lessons and I’m sure you’ll beat his ass easily.” Kate laughed.

“Maybe. And when I do, will you stop calling me ‘princess’?” America grinned and moved closer to Kate, whose laughter slowly died down.

“I’ll call you princess whenever I feel like calling you princess... princess,” America said. She was really close all of a sudden, when did she get so close? Kate looked into dark eyes, eyes that were normally not so full of anything but right now were deep, dark pools that Kate felt like she might just fall into. Without a second thought, she moved forward and pressed her lips on America’s. Her hand shot up and ended up in the other girl’s curls, which she softly pulled on to get closer, even closer than they already were. America’s lips were unbelievably soft and moved from Kate’s mouth to her jaw, down on her throat until Kate pulled her up and kissed her again. She pulled America on her, sneaking her free arm around America’s back, enjoying the weight on her stomach and chest. America’s hands were everywhere, caressing her skin from her cheeks down to her throat, where they moved down over the hospital gown to her arms, down to her hips. They kissed like they were underwater, and the only air on earth was trapped in the other’s lungs.

“I don’t think doctors generally recommend using CPR on someone who just got out of a coma,” a voice suddenly sounded from the hallway. Kate froze and looked at America, who rolled her eyes as she pulled back and climbed off of Kate. Standing in the doorway was a tired-looking guy in a purple shirt, one hand still on the doorknob and the other holding a plastic bag.

“So, this is Clint. The archer dumbass,” America said. Kate’s eyes grew wide.

“You’re Hawkeye? Sweet!” Clint smiled as he went to sit on the bed that used to be his, placing the bag next to him.

“I take it you’re a fan? Unlike that sulky girlfriend of yours.”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say ‘fan’,” Kate said, at the same time as America’s “I don’t sulk!” Both girls glanced at each other, sharing a look and sporting matching grins. Clint just rolled his eyes.

“God, young love. Must be exhausting. Anyway, who wants a beer?” he said, proceeding to haul some cans of beer from the plastic bag and throwing them on Kate’s hospital bed. “I got these from this German dude I know. He always hooks me up with the half liter ones,” Clint said, smugly opening his own can. “Besides, you just got out of your coma. If that doesn’t call for a celebration, I don’t know what does.”

Kate looked at Clint for a moment, then at the beer, then at America, who shrugged as if to say ‘whatever you want, princess’. “You know what, fuck it,” Kate said, before she cracked open a can and immediately chugged half of it. From her peripheral vision, Kate could swear she saw America looking impressed. “Wow, I was actually pretty thirsty,” Kate wonders as she sets her can back down in her lap.

“Yeah, a coma will do that to you,” Clint answered.

“You got experience?” America asked, after taking a sip of her own beer. Clint shrugged.

“I’ve dabbled. There was this one mission, which I’m probably not even authorized to tell you guys about.” Clint paused, briefly considering something, then continued. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, I was with my partner in Budapest, no back-up or extraction teams or anyone else on the ground but us, because it was all extremely covert. We were undercover for six months when my partner blew our cover in the middle of a gala, where about half the people were working for the guy who was our mark, all armed to the teeth, of course-”

“Of course,” America deadpanned, her arms crossed which, _wow_ , made her biceps look really nice. Must be the drinking on a stomach that’s been empty for two months. Kate shook her head and refocused on Clint. 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted-” That got another eyeroll from America, which caused Kate to smirk and reach over to hold her hand. “-we had to fight at least sixty people with AK-47’s while all I had was a butter knife that I had swiped from the buffet table earlier. So, being the genius marksman that I am, I took aim from where we were crouched behind a table, avoiding a rain of bullets, and threw it towards the grand chandelier that was in the middle of the ballroom ceiling.” Clint was mimicking his story as if he were back in Budapest, crouching behind his old bed with one arm held up, holding a pen like it was his butter knife. Within the blink of an eye, he threw the pen and hit the lamp in Kate’s hospital room with a deadly precision.

“Nice one, Hawkeye,” Kate said, earning her a grin from Clint.

“You’re not telling them about Budapest, are you?” a voice suddenly sounded in the room. In the door stood a woman with fierce red hair and sunglasses. “Because only four people in the world know about that mission, and now I might have to kill you.” Kate’s eyes were drawn to the holster that was strapped to the woman’s belt and she felt her heart speed up in panic, but then Clint smirked and stood up to hug the woman.

“Kate, meet Natasha; my other half in like, all possible ways.” Natasha raised her sunglasses to rest on her head and rolled her eyes. She walked up to Kate’s bed to shake her hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Kate,” she said. “I’ve been in and out of here a couple of times while this guy was healing-“ she pointed a thumb at Clint, who waved like an idiot, “-and it’s good to see you’re awake, finally. Though I’m not sure if drinking Clint’s off-brand German beer is the best step towards a full recovery.”

“It’s fine, Nat,” Clint said. “Rubbing alcohol is for outside wounds, drinking alcohol is for inside wounds, right, America?” Kate chuckled as America rolled her eyes, but took another sip nonetheless.

“That makes no sense at all, Barton,” Natasha said.

“So, if he’s Hawkeye, does that mean that you’re Black Widow?” Kate asked. It was probably nosey of her to ask, but she just _had_ to. It’s not every day that you wake up from a coma to kiss your best friend, who you’ve kinda had a crush on (because how could she not?), and then to find out that not one, but _two_ Avengers are glad to see you awake and well. This might be the best day of Kate’s life yet. She took another sip of her beer as Natasha answered.

“I am. It’s not really a secret, I suppose. Though I’m more involved as a regular agent in S.H.I.E.L.D. nowadays.”

“Do I want to know what that is?” Kate asked.

“No,” Clint and Natasha said, at the same time. 

“Let me guess,” America said. “It’s a secret government organization.” 

“I’m not at a liberty to discuss that.” 

“Whatever you say, Hawkeye.”

***

Things quiet down after Clint and Natasha leave. Off to another mission, according to Clint. Just out for lunch, according to Natasha. Kate doesn’t know which of those she believes but it doesn’t matter, because she’s feeling pleasantly buzzed and she’s laying cuddled up next to America.

“Cassie and the guys are coming over later,” America whispered in Kate’s hair.

“They were probably worried sick.”

“They were. We all were.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Kate said, kissing America’s shoulder, then her collarbone, then her neck. 

“Me too. I was about to tell the Hawkguy to stay in here permanently, talking to you about Dog Cops or whatever, to get you to wake up.”

“Actually, from what I remember, Dog Cops sounded pretty interesting,” Kate wondered. “I’m gonna have to ask Clint to show it to me sometime.”

“I have no doubt he’ll be happy to, Princess.” Kate groaned at the nickname.

“You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?” A kiss was pressed to her forehead.

“Nope.”

***

Things were looking up for Clint. He had been completely accident free for three months, his last two missions _weren’t_ a disaster, and on top of that, he had an apprentice now. Kate had only been shooting arrows for like three weeks, maybe a month, but she was picking it up like she had been a pro in another life. Who knows, maybe she had been. Stranger things have happened in Clint’s life.

Speaking of his life, Kate had actually pretty much infiltrated it. Like Natasha, she occasionally checked in to see how he’s doing, yelled at him to put on some pants and, sometimes, completely out of the blue, she walked Lucky. Clint remembered the first time it happened. He’d been out of his mind with worry that the Russian mafia stole back what was technically their dog first, and he’d suited up quicker than with any other mission before, ready to teach those bozo’s a lesson about proper pet grooming and care. Of course, the moment he was about to zipline out of the window was the moment Kate entered his apartment, using the hidden key, with Lucky by her side. 

Later, he heard from America that walking Lucky helped Kate to clear her mind, and that the moments when she needed that were usually after she’d had a fight with her dad. That’s when Clint offered her to move in with him. He’s got the room and the company would be nice, he told her. Besides, Lucky loves her (as does Clint, but she didn't have to know that just yet). Instead of answering, Kate looked at him with big, grateful eyes, which made Clint look away and scratch his head awkwardly.

But then she hugged him and Clint couldn’t help but feel a little grateful to those lowlife gangsters that threw him off a building, onto a parked car, three months ago.

“If I'm coming to live with you, you’d better stop drinking coffee straight from the pot, Hawkeye.”

“Sure thing, Hawkeye.”


End file.
